The Pleides Falling
by FanfictionVillainess
Summary: A leopard can't change its spots, and some spots never come off. Cowards die a thousand deaths. Two souls meet and bounce off each other time and time again, disconnected, breathless moments joining mortal enemies forever, only to leave them broken ghosts. Oneshot. Draco/Hermione.


**_These are just a few disconnected scenes from my Dramione headcanon. Hope you like it._**

Draco wakes up to his son whining. Raising a toddler was not as easy as he imagined it would be. Maybe that was foolish. Astoria is still passed out beside him, and he supposes he could do something nice for once. As he stands up, groaning at the premature pain in his bones, he thinks about how he had to bring her flowers every day for a week after he said something stupid. _Insensitive_. You're _insensitive, _Draco Malfoy.

He thinks briefly about Hermione, and how she used to tell him that. They would be sitting in the Astronomy Tower, hidden from everyone else. And she would tell him how insensitive he was. _Well I can't help it_, he would reply. And she would tell him that he could.

Maybe she thought she could change him. Maybe she didn't. He thinks carefully about every moment they spent together, analyzing it over and over again as if he were forced to. The screaming never goes away - How he betrayed her that day.

_So, that's where your loyalties lie_, Hermione snarled. _I should have known. A leopard can't change its spots._

And some spots never come off. Draco scratches at the Mark on his arm. It has been silent for ten years now. The regret that fills his body never seems to go away as he watches his son grow and wishes he did not look so much like his father. He wakes up screaming and Astoria tries to soothe him and fails.

He heads to Scorpius and helps him out of his toddler bed. Taking him in his arms, he guides his son to the dining room. Scorpius sits down, whining something incoherent - demands most likely. Draco sees himself in his son. He does not know if that is a good thing, or a bad thing.

"We need to go to Diagon Alley." Astoria enters, declaring herself. She is bold, brilliant and brash. He met her through an acquaintance of his parents, and they were married at twenty. Draco was still reeling and Britain was still rebuilding when they married. They had barely buried their friends and family when Draco was dancing at an expensive reception.

Eyes watched him.

_"I always feel like people are watching me," Draco murmurs to Hermione. She purses her lips, as if hiding something. He wants to shake her, demand for her to tell him the secrets of her friends. Maybe he could live if she had looser lips._

_ "They are," Hermione says, never one to lie. He wishes she were dishonest sometimes. "Your father has drawn attention to you."_

_ "You don't have to tell me that."_

_ "I just did."_

He makes his son breakfast as Astoria lists the things she needs from Diagon Alley. Draco's mind is a thousand miles away as he simply goes through the motions. The morning is cold and gross. He watches Scorpius eat and clumsily sips his coffee. The radio is on - a dry news story.

"It's cold out," Astoria says and Draco nods halfheartedly. He wishes he could be there for her - he wishes he could listen to the woman he knows very little about. Her face was at Hogwarts for years but he never noticed it. Like that mudblood who was in front of him all the time, who suddenly turned into the only person he trusted.

Draco Malfoy is toxic. Hermione Granger - now _Weasley _- was right to never forgive him. Astoria Malfoy is right to feel unsatisfied with her icy marriage. The second that mark burned into his arm, he was forever changed. He thought, at times, that it could be for the better. He gloated to his friends, but the fall of the Dark Lord was sobering to say the least.

_"I am never going to forgive you, Draco Malfoy. I was right about you all along," Hermione says coolly, not bothering to make eye contact. "Look, you don't even want to be seen with me now. I don't care. You were always an asshole."_

_ She walks away._

Many miles away from the cold expensive penthouse Draco Malfoy and his small family reside in, Hermione Weasley wakes up in an equally oppressive world. She is clever, she has grown up beautiful, but she still feels like a gawky teenager sometimes, even at twenty-six. Her husband is... boring. She thinks she settled because the adrenaline brought them close together.

She imagined herself with _Harry _sometimes. That always makes her laugh. But it doesn't when Ron accuses her of cheating on him. With who? With who the hell would she be fucking? She works a desk job that she thought would make her forget being on the front lines of a war as a youth. Nobody listened to her then - not since the moment she told them that going to get Sirius was a trap, or the time she figured out the Chamber of Secrets by herself. And no one listens to her now.

Her past relationships have been more colorful than Ron. Viktor Krum made her a girl next door and a celebrity. That ended long ago, but it was quite nice. The distance surprisingly worked out nicely. She thinks about their endless letters, and his written in broken English. He was the one she lost her virginity to, one summer night when Harry and Ron were out without her. _Again_.

Hermione had a stable family life, studious habits, brushed her teeth every morning. And then she wound up a loose cannon. Ron was always there. In her face. She kind of liked him at times. They bickered and she thought about kissing him just to see what it felt like.

She was sixteen when she had sex with a pureblood supremacist and liked it. Harry was on some insane tangent about Draco being a Death Eater. Well, he was right that time, unlike all of the others. Hermione was trailing Draco, suspicious. Sometimes she _did _cave in to the lunacy of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. And she and Draco kind of... hit it off.

He looked so sad and grey. And Hermione was pissed about fucking Lavender Brown. They both were... neglected. It was illicit and kind of crazy. She had never before been so _reckless _and _insane_. Dating Draco Malfoy in secret was like dancing in the spotlight of a runaway train.

They never went on dates. They met in the Astronomy Tower and talked about life and she never told him about the Order and he never told her about the Death Eaters, but they somehow never ran out of things to talk about.

Then he betrayed her. Sometimes the screams don't go away. She wakes up crying and pretends that she didn't. Ron does not even notice the stains of trauma on his wife. Hermione was always the level headed one. She can't let anyone see that her _emotions _are controlling her. That would destroy everything she is and everything she pretends to be.

"I'm going to the bookstore," Hermione says and Ron nods. He looks tired. He has been chasing down some rogue dark wizard for two weeks now. The murders have been racking up and it has fallen on Ron and Harry. She, on the other hand, just clocks in and out of work like she never imagined she would as a youth.

"Have fun," Ron says earnestly and she feels a pang of guilt in her gut. Avoiding him feels wrong when he is such a _good _guy. He can be a total dick and incredibly distant, but he also happens to be undeniably sweet.

Her favorite song is playing on the radio in Flourish and Blotts. It smells like new books. Ron, she thinks to herself with a small smile, once bought her _new book _perfume for Christmas. These are the moments where she regrets the times she wakes up clawing at her scars and thinking about how much she wishes she were kissing Draco Malfoy instead of her beloved husband.

"Draco," - Hermione hears his name and thinks she is hallucinating. It is coming from an unknown female, "Look at this."

"Yes, darling, I─"

"You're not looking."

Hermione smirks. It sounds like Malfoy, the bane of her high school and the one lay she got hung up on. She peers around the corner, trying not to draw attention to herself. Draco is standing with a whining child and petite blonde wife. They look _exactly _like he and his parents - so much that Hermione tries not to get struck with a fit of giggles.

He looks _tired_.

* * *

Hermione walks through the hallway, exhausted from studying all night. She sees Draco. He looks even more tired. She has felt pity for him for several weeks now, despite the incessant ravings of Harry Potter. The exhaustion in his grey eyes shows someone more jaded than the asshole who mocked her when they were children.

She starts to follow him. Wondering, maybe Harry is right, she follows him all the way to the Astronomy Tower. Draco does not notice her, he is so lost in his own thoughts. They circle around his dream last night about dying, and he thinks about how these nightmares are better than his waking life.

"Granger?" Draco spins around and Hermione jumps about ten feet. They stare at each other for a moment, the sunset blinding Hermione as she looks at the thinning silhouette of her least favorite pureblood supremacist.

"I didn't mean... I..." Damn it, why doesn't she have an excuse? "I'll be going now."

"Were you following me?" Draco panics momentarily, wondering if she knows something. If anyone finds out, come Christmas, he'll come home and the Dark Lord will probably kill him. Or make his own mother kill him if his Aunt Bellatrix is not just exaggerating to watch the terrified look on his face.

"No... Alright, yes," Hermione says. "You look tired."

"Thank you?" Draco feels baffled, Hermione embarrassed.

They quickly dash off in opposite directions. It was an embarrassing encounter, and Hermione and Draco both hope never to repeat it.

* * *

Draco looks up and think he is hallucinating.

"I'll be going now," Hermione says, a blast from his past quickly dashing away.

He thinks for a moment, and realizes that that was the first thing she said to him that he did not mock. They were both a mess then. He is a mess now. From the papers, it seems that Granger has moved on with her life.

He walks after her, Astoria tugging on a book that Scorpius is running away with. His wife and son do not even notice him walking away. Draco sees Hermione pressed against a bookshelf, as if she is trying to disappear into the fabric of time.

They look at each other. Both of their minds flash back simultaneously to the moment that any feelings they had for each other died. Draco did nothing. Hermione was tortured by a lunatic.

_"What? Was she your _girlfriend_?" Aunt Bellatrix asks bitterly, her lips curled into a twisted grin. "Draco has a _girlfriend_? A mudblood girlfriend... That he is never gonna see again."_

_ "I have more decency than to fuck a mudblood!" Draco snaps. He knows she is hurt. He saw what happened to her, his Aunt lying on the floor, blood dripping from her lips for her failure. Raped and tortured - Draco almost unscathed. He does not envy Bellatrix Lestrange._

_ He also does not blame her for being a bitch. Draco suffered as well. But the Dark Lord's punishment could not compare to his regret for not stopping what happened to Hermione._

Hermione swallows, scratching her head. Her hair is tied in a loose ponytail and is as bushy as ever. She has matured, and so has Draco. Their bodies are fully developed, and equally scarred and bent. They rented each other, those years ago. The time was up.

"Sorry..." Hermione mutters, though she does not know why she is apologizing.

"Nice to see you..."

He is saying things awkwardly, and Hermione wishes that he wouldn't.

"Like I said, I'll be going now," Hermione says.

_Wait_, Draco thinks, but Astoria has appeared behind him.

"That's that mudblood girl, huh?" Astoria asks as Hermione disappears amongst the bookshelves.

"Don't say that word so loudly. We get enough glares," Draco grumbles and Astoria ignores him. Scorpius jumps on Draco's side and he picks up his son.

"She hasn't been on the news in a while," Astoria remarks, handing Draco the basket of books she is carrying.

"Do we need all of this?"

She does not listen to him; he does not listen to her.

Hermione walks down the streets of Diagon Alley, her heart racing. She feels foolish.

She has spent her life saying _I wish I could_, but she just fucking couldn't.

The sex is lackluster. Bluntly put, neither Draco or Hermione are quite pleased physically. They did not do a particularly good job with each other, either. When they first did it, it was impulsive and wild and crazy. Hermione wishes Ron were more impulsive and less tired and Draco wishes Astoria would do more than just lie there. Not that teenagers knew sex better than that, but it certainly could have led to why they were both so unhappy.

Hermione loves Ron. She knows that she does, deep in her heart. But the thing is ─ people can love each other in different ways. Ron loves Hermione as a romantic interest, while Hermione loves Ron as a close friend. Therefore, when she returns home from running into Draco Malfoy, she finds it difficult to even look at her husband.

It does not require advanced occlumency to keep things from Ronald. He is not, in all honesty, the shiniest broomstick in the closet. But Hermione _loves _him. And she does not understand why a small bookshop encounter is peeling her apart like this. Maybe it was just the scent of the new books that aroused her, and not Draco's expensive cologne. It has to be that; it simply has to be.

Draco walks with Astoria through Diagon Alley as she racks up purchases. He carries the bags for her like a respectful husband. He does not want to be his father ─ the man sentenced to a life in prison. _Collaborators_, they called them. Collaborators were rounded up and given trials, and this time, nothing could save Lucius Malfoy. Draco and his mother, on the other hand, were spared; the former made a good case for himself, the latter had no Mark on her arm and could bat her eyelashes and make problems go away.

His mother was abused by his father. Draco has never openly discussed that before and he has no desire to. But he has promised that he will not be his father, who would smoke and drink and sleep around with other women. His father caused his mother to cry herself to sleep long before the Dark Lord returned.

_"Let me tell you something about your father," his Aunt Bellatrix says, leaning back. She has a half empty bottle of firewhiskey in her right hand, and a cigarette in the left. "I once nearly bludgeoned him to death with a lamp because he beat up your mother. And he still never stopped doing it. Like some kind of fucking muggle drunk."_

_ Draco squirms uncomfortably. He wants to protest and defend his father, but he would be wrong. Strangely, his Aunt Bellatrix makes a better paternal figure than Lucius Malfoy ever did. But Draco has used his father incessantly to secure himself what he desires. Despite all of the things that Lucius Malfoy does._

"You're zoning out again, Draco," Astoria snaps and Draco sighs. He wishes he didn't disappoint her as often as he does. The war left scars that Astoria does not understand. Hermione has it better ─ he bets that the Weasel is equally depressing to be around.

"I'm sorry, darling," he says, accepting the next bag. They continue walking, Scorpius constantly getting distracted. He wonders momentarily if Hermione has any kids, and if they have that ginger hair. Draco never was one for red hair, but he never prided himself on the blond either.

Hermione looks at Ron across the dinner table. The children are already off to bed. Only Ron and Hermione are eating late, she, a second dinner in order to be with him when he is done at work. He speaks only of the dark wizard he is off chasing. Hermione smiles slightly, fondly, at the thoughts of he and Harry's endless tangents about their current project.

They went through a lot for being mere teenagers.

"So, how was your day?" Silence.

"Fine." That's always the answer. He does not ask about hers, and she does not tell. That seems to be the eternal dance, somewhere between heaven and hell.

Miles away, Draco lies in bed with Astoria. She is reading a magazine and he is pretending to read a book. Every once in a while, he will turn the page. This is one of the many ways they avoid speaking to each other.

* * *

"She's perfect for you, Draco," his mother says, gesturing at the girl on the other side of the room.

"I've never even met her," Draco says, still reeling from the war. He has barely gotten back on his feet, and his mother is desperately trying to make him tie the knot. It feels _wrong_.

The girl across the room is beautiful, very beautiful. She also looks sad, in a way that he cannot describe. He supposes he also probably looks perpetually grim. These are not pleasant times, despite the joy of the Dark Lord's defeat.

Draco feels a sick twisting in his stomach. His mother nudges him repeatedly until he goes and introduces himself to the beautiful woman.

_I'm just going to hurt you. Like I hurt Hermione._

"I'm Draco," Draco says and the girl eyes him.

"I'm aware." At first, he thinks it is her name. He opens his mouth to foolishly address her as that before realizing what she actually meant. "My name is Astoria. It's nice to meet you."

There is a strange bitterness in her words. He cannot place a finger on it, but he feels that their love is doomed from the start. Much like his relationship with a mudblood girl. He still wonders if anyone will discover it, discover that he is _unclean _like that. He certainly hopes that no one will. It would end his world, and end that of those around him.

"Should we dance or something?" Astoria says bluntly, and Draco complies.

* * *

Hermione finds herself walking to the Astronomy Tower, weighted down by a hefty collection of books. Harry and Ron have been ignoring her of late, pissed off about some book that she finds awfully suspicious. She has just spent a good deal of her time invested in finding out who exactly this Halfblood Prince is.

Draco is there. She thinks... she almost thinks she wanted him to be there. Lavender Brown. Harry and his stupid book. The idea of befriending their archenemy... it appeals to a sick side of Hermione that she did not know she had.

"This year has been rough, huh?"

Draco jumps, startled by the mudblood behind him. He hesitates, his hand twitching to his wand. "I ought to jinx you for sneaking up on me like that, Granger."

"Maybe you should." Hermione is not sure if she is flirting or not. She never exactly attempted to flirt with anyone, but she has been watching Ron and Lavender flopping about like fucking eels. Draco... danger... Hermione does not do danger. She turns in her homework on time, gets good grades, stays in on weekends and never dives in headfirst. And Draco is a total asshole.

"Care to sit, Granger?" Draco offers, gesturing to the spot next to him. It is a gesture of truce that Hermione would never expect from him. As he offered, she sits down.

"So what do you do up here? Kill innocent birds as they fly by?" Hermione asks, crossing her arms. The stars are beautiful. There is a full moon over the blue land, and a peculiar longing on the wind.

"I'm not _that _evil," Draco says, leaning back. They both stare out at the sky.

"This is a nice hiding spot you have, Malfoy," Hermione remarks and Draco shrugs.

"No one's followed me up here before you. _Twice _now. Have you developed a thing for me, Granger? Because I don't date mudbloods."

"Is it icky, Malfoy?"

"Yes."

They both laugh, mirthlessly, carelessly and recklessly. The world is careening down a slippery slope. Maybe it's time to kiss our enemies and tell our friends to fuck off. Hermione feels that way right now; somewhat... fatalistic. And Draco's dreams about dying are the best he has ever had.

"You never thought about kissing a mudblood?" Hermione says and Draco snorts.

"I think you secretly want to be snogging the ginger blood traitor friend of yours," he replies smoothly and Hermione smirks. She does not think she has ever _smirked _before. Draco is pulling out a negative side of her she has never seen before.

"You know, this is our first civilized conversation," Hermione remarks as she gazes at the moon. It looks sensual tonight.

"Hopefully it will be our last. I don't like to associate myself with mudbloods. Much less mudblood buddies of Harry Potter." Draco kicks his legs up as a shooting star passes.

"The Pleides," Hermione says, pointing at the comets dashing by. They were what she came up here to see, though she may have been hoping to stumble across Draco on her way. Just out of curiousity, she tells herself.

"The hunks of flaming rocks have names?" Draco snorts at the mudblood. Ignorant bitch.

"They do. And if you paid more attention in class instead of _sulking_, maybe you would know," Hermione says. "Or are you just still wounded because daddy is in jail and can't pull you out of all of your mistakes?"

That strikes a nerve. Draco is pissed, but also does not feel like he cares. He simply stares at the shooting stars. He thinks about how he would use to wish on stars at nights, and none of them would ever come true. Not one single wish.

Hermione used to wish on stars, though she found it illogical later in her life. In fact, she used to wish that one of her dolls would come to life and be her sister. She was a lonely child, with no friends. Wishes were all she had. But they were lost wishes.

They are oddly in sync, though they sit in silence.

"That one was fast," Draco remarks, pointing. Hermione nods slowly.

"Good work, smartypants," she murmurs and he smirks. Granger isn't half bad when she isn't strutting about with Potter and Weasley. As long as they don't make any skin on skin contact, perhaps tonight will not be so lonely and abysmal after all.

"You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" Draco asks, wishing he had a beer.

"I would be as embarrassed as you are," Hermione replies sharply, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"I find that hard to believe."

Silence. They watch the meteor shower, lost in their own troubles, but strangely together.

* * *

"The Pleides are happening tonight," Astoria remarks, interrupting their 'pretending to read' session. "I was going to show Scorpius."

Draco gets up and out of bed. "He was pretty excited last time we woke him for a meteor shower."

"How did you get interested in those anyway?"

"A mudblood told me about it," he says and Astoria laughs. She heard it as a joke, as Draco expected. He walks to his son's bedroom and gently wakes him.

* * *

"The Pleides..." Hermione mutters, waking up. She has fallen asleep in front of the radio, half a glass of wine in her hand. She is not a drunk, but she also can't hold more than two glasses without getting drowsy. Ron is already upstairs, snoring like lawnmower.

She walks to the window and watches the shooting stars. It is outstanding how some things can remain so constant. The shifting of the heavens, and her occasional reminiscing about a love that was not her first and was not her last. It was almost purely sexual. The occasional conversation. She found it physical relief, and so did he. She saw the Mark on his arm and said nothing and regretted it for the rest of her life.

Maybe she could have stopped him. But her pride would not let her. She would not admit that she was spending those nights in the Astronomy Tower with _Malfoy _of all people. She could imagine them mocking her, and Harry and Ron abandoning her. They were her first real friends and she would not sacrifice them for a boy.

But Draco proved himself in the end. He let her get tortured.

She was wrong about him. Some people just cannot change.

* * *

"Draco," Astoria purrs, walking up to him. "I think I'm pregnant."

Draco pretends to be excited. He loves Scorpius. But he looks in Astoria's eyes and sees that she is trying to do this to bring them together. Babies... they don't fix things for couples. Draco did not fix things for his parents, and it just isn't how the world spins.

But he will be responsible. And he vows to himself to stop thinking about the damned mudblood who stole his heart. He smiles at his wife and agrees to accompany her to the healer.

_Don't think about her anymore. She's gone. Gone. These feelings are old news._

* * *

"Draco, just stop it." Hermione wishes she hadn't agreed to meet him in the coffee shop. It has been two years since the Battle for Hogwarts and she has managed to evade him.

And now they are making a scene; hipster heads are turned towards them. She hates making a scene more than anything. But he said he had apologies, and apologies he had. They spill from his lips like raindrops from a cloud and Hermione does not buy a single one of them.

"We need to move on," she says firmly. _Be level-headed._

"Hermione," he says, sounding unlike himself. That was what she fell in love with ─ a different Draco. She fell for the cavalier Draco with the fatalistic view and the pain of the Dark Lord's task on his shoulders. This broken Draco is less appealing, and his broken Hermione is less jaded than the one he agreed to share his hiding spot with. "Hermione, how could the one thing I felt so right about be so wrong?"

She hesitates.

"It just is. It just is."


End file.
